


we could play a game where we let the breakfast melt

by intoxicatelou



Series: an invitation to a modest breakfast [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Banter, Breathplay, College Student Peter Parker, Kink Discovery, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Morning After, Non-Negotiated Kink, Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Spanking, Uncertain relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:35:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27433651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intoxicatelou/pseuds/intoxicatelou
Summary: Peter doesn’t want to get out of bed. Tony tries to make him.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Series: an invitation to a modest breakfast [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2014243
Comments: 14
Kudos: 277
Collections: Flash With Benefits





	we could play a game where we let the breakfast melt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [toucanpie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/toucanpie/gifts).



> for my dearest, best, most wonderful fiend <3 
> 
> Set in a Post-IW everyone lives / nobody dies / Thanos is a purple decimated smudge timeline.
> 
> Title is a play off a line from the poem [ "Your Invitation to a Modest Breakfast"](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/56059/your-invitation-to-a-modest-breakfast) by Hannah Gamble. 
> 
> *re-dated for work reveals, sorry if you're already seen this!*

Peter wouldn’t consider himself a morning person. At least not by natural habit but by practice, what with high school and a frankly awful college schedule his first year at MIT. Still, he somehow tries to get at least six hours a night, even with patrols and homework and internship work, though it hadn’t taken a bio scan to queue Peter in on how he definitely needed more than that given his spider biology. He rarely pulls all-nighters like some of his classmates, especially after that one Physics midterm where he’d accidentally stuck his hand to his chair for the entire exam because his body couldn’t understand that it wasn’t under attack. Stress and insomnia weren’t good for spiders apparently...his senses run haywire, and the paranoia can get so bad Peter hardly registered what else happened the day of his midterm. So yeah, no all nighters. 

Well, not usually. 

Staying up all night fucking Tony Stark seems to be the exception to Peter’s unofficial rule. 

There’s probably some scientific explanation why his brain isn’t hammering right now other than the fact that orgasms really do feel that _good_ when caused by your hot older mentor and forever dream crush, and it certainly helps that it’s the summer now and Peter doesn’t have any other plans than spending most of the morning in bed. 

He isn’t completely unscathed. While the bruises Mr. Stark sucked into his thighs were probably long gone, he’s still a little sore. Peter isn’t complaining though, it’s just the right kind of ache that makes him bite back a moan when he stretches like a cat on the giant bed, the lazy sunlight filtering through the curtains. 

Half-awake, he reaches a curious arm to the other side of the bed, frowning slightly when he realizes it's empty.

“Oh good you’re up.” Mr. Stark’s chipper voice flows into the room a moment later. 

“No I’m not,” Peter mumbles, but his eyes flit open to see the older man buttoning up a crisp shirt that probably costs more than Peter’s rent. 

Mr. Stark laughs, the easy sound making something soft twist in Peter’s chest. 

“Well you should be, it’s almost eleven, kid.” Mr. Stark says, his eyes crinkling. 

“That’s still early for some people,” Peter huffs, closing his eyes again and shifting deeper into the covers. His body still feels like molten gold, warm and heavy. The last thing he wants to do is get out of bed. 

He’s cozy enough that he doesn’t hear Mr. Stark move, just feels the mattress dip next to him and then a hand tenderly brushes through his hair. 

Peter nuzzles into the touch on instinct with a pleased sigh. 

“Don’t you have plans?” Mr. Stark asks, carding fingers through Peter’s sleep mussed curls. Peter rubs his eyes, letting out a small yawn. 

“Maybe get some work done in the lab later? I really was close to finishing up the web shooter updates before we got into the argument about the nanite compression model —“ Peter stops, blushing a little at the memory of what had started it all. “Which, like, okay maybe you win that one. But um, yeah. No other plans.” 

“Well, you had some good points there too, kid,” Mr. Stark says, still smiling and Peter lets out a low gasp as Mr. Stark’s nails scratch against his scalp. He shivers into the touch, eyes fluttering close when Mr. Stark does it again. 

“God you’re gorgeous like this,” the older man murmurs, before pulling his hand away. “Almost makes me feel bad that I’m going to have to ask you to get out of bed.” 

“ _Noooo_ ,” Peter whines, at both the loss of the hair petting and the statement. His eyes fly open and he grabs the wrist before it fully retreats from him, pressing the older man’s hand to his cheek. “Please don’t make me, Mr. Stark.” 

“ _Peter,_ ” Mr. Stark says, affectionate, “You can call me Tony now, you know that.” 

“Oh,” Peter says, blinking. Technically, Peter _didn’t_ know that because well, as amazing last night was, it wasn’t exactly a love confession but more like… a sex confession. Not that Peter doesn’t _want_ to date Tony Stark, it’s just he’d got the feeling that it isn’t exactly something Mr. Stark — _Tony_ wants to talk about right now, considering his break up with Pepper Potts still fresh from a few months ago. 

Peter isn’t judging. After pining for years, last night was more than a welcome surprise, even if he didn’t exactly know where it left them. When it came to Tony, Peter would take anything he could get. 

“Anyway, I’ve got a meeting later, but I was thinking maybe I could treat you to a late breakfast?” Tony asks, rubbing a thumb over Peter’s cheekbones. “Pancakes, eggs, ice cream —“ 

“Ice cream?” Peter interrupts, raising an eyebrow. 

“Why, it’s never too early for ice cream, Mr. Parker.” Tony teases, and Peter laughs. 

“That sounds wonderful,” Peter says, more than a little cheeky when he adds “But I’m really good right here.” 

“ _Peter_ ,” Tony admonishes, but Peter takes it as a win that he doesn’t take his hand away. 

“ _Tony,_ ” Peter parrots back, and then because he’s feeling bold, asks: “What would you do if I didn’t get out of bed?” 

He feels Tony’s thumb halt on his face, the older man’s gaze sharpening at the question. 

“ _Sweetheart_ ,” Tony hums, and Peter feels warm all over at the endearment. The fingers at his jaw tighten by a margin. “Don’t make me punish you.” 

Peter’s eyes widen, and at first, he almost chokes out a laugh. _Punish?_ He runs the verb over and over in his mind, feeling more dizzy the more he thinks about it. 

“You wouldn’t,” Peter responds, with a false bravado. Mostly because he isn’t sure if Tony’s really serious about this. If anything, Peter's imagined that if they ended up repeating last night, say a couple times, he’d be the one to work up the courage to ask Tony for more. 

“Kid, you really want to test that theory?” Tony says, raising an eyebrow. Peter’s grip on Tony’s wrist slackens a little, but the hand on his cheek doesn’t pull back. Instead, it slips a little lower, until Tony’s thumb is tracing the curve of Peter’s throat, almost inquisitively. 

Peter swallows hard, trying to think about his next words. It’s just difficult to do, with Tony so close, smelling sweet from the shower, shirt still half unbuttoned and a dark pair of boxers clinging sinfully to his thighs. He looks delicious like this, and Peter wants him to slip underneath the sheets already and give up on the pretense that he doesn’t want to — ice cream breakfast be damned. Because one thing’s sure, Tony definitely wants to, his eyes flitting to Peter’s mouth on instinct when he licks his lips. 

“What if I do?” Peter says, as steady as he can, and just because he likes to push Tony’s buttons, he adds, “ _Old man.”_

“ _Brat_ ,” Tony hisses out, his eyes narrowing and before Peter has time to react, he’s pulling off the sheets, his hand tightening on Peter’s throat. 

“Hey!” Peter gasps out, shivering a little as the air hits his naked skin. His cock is more than half hard already, filling up as Tony continues to pin him by his throat. 

“Turn over,” Tony says, letting go of Peter’s throat after a moment. Peter gasps, it was only for a few seconds but Peter feels the dizzy rush pooling inside him, tightening the heat in his stomach. 

“What?” Peter manages to say when he’s caught his breath. 

“Turn. Over.” Tony commands, and Peter’s question dies in his throat. He flips over, welcoming the brush of the mattress against his aching cock. 

“On your knees, Peter” Tony asks, and Peter’s body once again goes where Tony wants him to, letting Tony’s hands pull apart his thighs. 

“You don’t have to count, but you can if you’d like to,” Tony states, matter of fact, and Peter’s barely got a second to process the sentence before the first blow lands fresh on his ass. 

“ _Fuck,_ ” Peter curses, surprised at the spark of heat Tony’s hand leaves on him, how it so quickly dulls. 

“Only good boys get to make noise,” Tony says, before bringing down his hand again, this time a little harder. “Since you’ve decided not to count, I expect you to be quiet.”

The insult paired with another blow goes straight to his cock, and Peter bites back a whine, his fingers tightening in the sheets. He wants to be good for Tony, wants to take what the older man will give, and he nods jerkily to let Tony know he understood. 

And so, Tony spanks him again. 

And again. 

And again. 

And again. 

Until Peter couldn’t dream of counting if he wanted to, the impression of Tony’s hand feeling like a tattoo, the painful glow spreading down his thighs, making his balls ache. He’s leaking now, he’s sure of it, a puddle of precome spoiling the sheets. 

“ _Please_ ,” Peter whimpers, after another hard blow, breaking his vow of silence, and suddenly the hand on his ass is kneading into the flesh, making his back bow at the bruising pleasure of it all. 

“Please, what?” Tony asks, pressing a contrasting light kiss to the back of Peter’s neck, “You have to use your words, sweetheart, tell me how I can take care of you.” 

“Please make me _come_ ,” Peter babbles out, not even caring how desperate he sounds, “please, Tony, touch me, fuck me, oh my god, _do anything_ —” 

Peter doesn’t even know when Tony got the lube, but he feels the first finger slip inside him with ease. He arches into the touch, absently realizing that he’s probably still wet from last night’s activities, maybe not as loose because of his healing, but still. The thought only makes him harder, and in no time, Tony’s scissoring him open with two fingers. 

Peter doesn’t want to wait for the third. 

“I needed you inside me like, five minutes ago,” Peter snaps, half groaning as Tony impeccably finds his prostate, sending stars up his spine. Peter’s barely propped up by his knees now, his hips almost sagging into the sheets, the length of Tony’s body hanging over him. 

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning,” Tony teases, biting at the meat of Peter’s shoulder, making Peter’s knees slip further. 

“ _Tony_ , _”_ Peter begs, again. 

Suddenly Peter’s being pulled onto his side, his back flush against the warmth of Tony’s bare chest, the hard line of his cock nudging up against his hole. “But you’re right to complain, I should’ve just fucked you awake instead.” 

It’s almost too easy to imagine that version of the morning, Peter waking up from his dream that was no longer a dream, because Tony would actually be hard and firm inside him, the smell of sweat and sex in the air, slow languid thrusts with Tony’s voice in his ear, calling him beautiful, gorgeous, —

“Just look at you, god, _Peter_ ” Tony gasps, as he bottoms out, and Peter blinks open his eyes, letting his daydream dissipate, and _comes._ Untouched, sucking Tony deeper inside him, like he was made for this, Tony’s hand loose on his throat as his other one wraps around to work Peter through it. He’s still hard when he finishes, panting, amazed he somehow hadn’t bucked Tony off him with the force of his orgasm. 

“ _Sweetheart_ ,” Tony says, sounding absolutely wrecked, and then he’s tilting Peter’s head to capture his mouth in a messy kiss, sloppy and wet. Like this, Peter comes back to himself, dazed on Tony’s tongue, before whispering into his mentor’s mouth, _fuck me, Tony, fuck me._

And so Tony does, their bodies moving in a rhythm that leaves Peter panting all over again. He feels full, perfect, his mind blank except for a litany of _Tony, please,_ and _more._

“You’re perfect,” Tony groans, increasing his pace, his hand tightening on Peter’s hip. “You’re doing so good, Peter.” 

The praise jolts Peter like electricity, making his skin shiver with pleasure and his cock leak against his stomach. 

“My good boy, taking it so well,” Tony murmurs directly into Peter’s ear, and Peter moans, unabashed. It feels better than he imagined it to feel, _good boy,_ pushing him closer to his orgasm in two easy syllables. 

“M’close,” Peter whimpers, “Tony, please, —”

“Hold on, Peter,” Tony shudders, the sound of skin sinking into skin growing louder and faster. 

“I-I-I _can’t_ , Tony,” Peter stutters, tears pin pricking his eyes as he feels the heat build inside him. Tony’s close, he knows he is, but every thrust was brushing that spot inside him, making him choke on stars —

“You can,” Tony responds, firm, and Peter’s crying now, sweet wet tears flowing down his face, as he holds off his orgasm, the need to be good for Tony outweighing his own selfish desire to come. 

“Just like that, Peter,” Tony praises, yet again and his hand’s curving around to get Peter in hand, jacking him off in time to his thrusts. 

“Tony, Tony, please, I’m going to —”

“You can,” Tony pants, sucking a mark underneath Peter’s jaw, “Come for me, sweetheart. ”

Peter sobs as his second orgasm roars through him, Tony’s hips tripping to a stop as he comes with him, filling Peter up for the second time in less than twenty four hours. 

He feels Tony soften inside him, but he’s too sex drunk to do anything except tilt his head to kiss him again, sweet, gentle. 

“Okay, you win,” Tony concedes, in between soft nips to Peter’s mouth, “Ice cream and work can wait. I’m not letting you out of my sight.” 

“Yaaaay,” Peter cheers, grinning. It doesn’t matter what they call this — he’ll choose staying in bed with Tony Stark over breakfast and the rest of the world any day.

**Author's Note:**

> Now with a sequel :)))  
> comments & kudos always appreciated <3


End file.
